


fire and peace

by simplecoffee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, Exhaustion, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Feels, circulatory shock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 02:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9269147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: He'scomfortable- don't they get it?





	

There's shouting. He wants...there not to be shouting. Too much movement, too many people, too many voices and gunshot vibrations of high heels and heavy boots striking the floor around his head and _God_ he can't take it, he _can't_ why won't they _stop_. 

He's _comfortable_ \- don't they get it? Of all the places and all the years, he's got nowhere left to call truly his own, no bed to sleep in without dreaming. No voice left to hear without losing another shard of his miserable, thrice-bleeding heart. The air around him is constantly too cold for his aching chest, the heat too much for his whirling head, his senses overloading at the slightest touch, but here, today, on this flat, cool floor in a building he thinks he probably owns, he's comfortable. His mind is quiet. His heart is quiet. He can breathe. He wants to sleep. 

Oh _God_ , he wants to sleep. 

He would, if they'd let him. He slips away sometimes, but they yell and they shout and they call his name and he can't, can't listen, it hurts, they hurt. They can't really be here - they ran away, after all, they left, every one, or were hurt or killed - his fault. They'll be killed soon enough, anyway, with every single other person in the world - apocalypse, now; his fault. They'll die, of course they will, without knowing or caring how much he loves them - loved them? - oh well, what is it to them, anyway? They'll _die_ , because they wouldn't listen, because he couldn't fix it, because he can't fight. 

Because...he can't fight. He knows that now. His head is quiet; a stillness pools gently in his limbs. He knows with a blessed, damned certainty that even were he to open his eyes, his vision would be fading. 

There's shouting, and the clicking of heels and soles on the floor around his head. It hurts, keeps hurting until the voice of someone red - _oh, Nat, Nat, why_ \- says, "Out, _now,_ " and then there's peace. 

Quiet. He drifts. It's all he wanted; all he's dreamed of. Wandering. Sinking. He has nowhere left to call his own, no voice to hear that will not shatter his tired, tired heart. And yet, there is a voice; he cannot listen, will not listen, he's so close to sleep - so, so close to finally slipping beneath the curtain. He can't listen. He can't breathe. He can't _breathe_. 

There's a hand, suddenly soft in his own. There are no heels, clicking, scraping; just a hand, and a voice. 

Pepper holds his hand and says, softly, sadly, brokenly, "Tony, how _dare you_." 

Tony stops falling, and opens his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, 2017! Look at me writing again. Anyone miss me?


End file.
